Disclaimer:
The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and settings are the
property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and its licensees. These works were produced with admiration
and respect, as fan fiction for entertainment purposes only, not for sale or profit.
(Author's Note: I have long wanted
to do a story which focused on what the other hobbits felt and experienced
those four nights and three days after Frodo arrived in Imladris, near death
and worse. The Professor passes over
that time so quickly. This tale takes
place from the time Glorfindel brings Frodo in until just before "Intruder"
begins. My thanks to the irreplaceable
Marigold for pointing out logistical errors, for encouragement, and for
contributing her awesome knowledge of canon.)
Out of All Knowledge
Chapter One

The grey-clad
company raced into the courtyard, the elvish mounts tossing their heads, their
sleek bodies foamed and dripping.
Sparks flashed from hooves as the horses fought for their footing on the
smooth flagstones. The escort,
dispatched from the House by its lord, had met Glorfindel two leagues from
Imladris. At Glorfindel's shouted
instructions, half had continued on to find the hobbit's cousins, his servant
and Estel; the others turned their mounts to race alongside the valiant
Asfaloth as the white stallion ran with all his heart.

Glorfindel rode
high in the light saddle, centering his weight and the weight of his
blanket-wrapped burden over the stallion's withers to help his gallant steed. The small amount of extra weight was nothing
to the great stallion, but Asfaloth had galloped all the leagues from the Ford
without rest, from the moment Aragorn had placed the motionless bundle in
Glorfindel's arms. Foam lathered his
graceful neck and splattered behind him, tiny white streamers that heralded
approaching exhaustion. His rider
curled his body protectively over their small, unconscious passenger and rode
with his legs only, keeping his seat through ability earned by millennia of
horsemanship. Wordlessly, one of the
escort held out his long arms, offering to take the small bundle on his fresher
horse, but Glorfindel shook his head, fearing even the brief delay of an
exchange. The Elf leaned forward to
whisper in the great stallion's ear, "Faster, great heart. Run!" Asfaloth swiveled an ear back to
listen then leaped forward, running with all the strength of his unquenchable
spirit.

One of the
escort broke from the others, a slender, light-framed Elf-woman on a swift
silver mare, and urged her mount forward and even with the stallion, fairly
flying. Her eyes met Glorfindel's as
she passed, and silent words of hope and encouragement flowed into his weary
mind. Glorfindel nodded his thanks and
then she was gone, racing ahead to carry news of him and the four that followed
to their lord.

The escort
flanked the great stallion as they pounded across the narrow bridge and through
the gates of the Last Homely House.
Elrond awaited them at the top of the stairs, his sons at his side, the
young lords' arms holding wooden boxes of medicinal supplies and bandages. The Elf-lord's deep eyes took in his Elf's
exhausted state, the foam lying thick on Asfaloth's flanks and dripping from
his mouth, and swept down the stairs, his great copper-colored mantle billowing
behind him.

Glorfindel
bowed as best he could from the saddle.
"He yet lives, my lord. By the
grace of Elbereth and his own great will, he lives."

Elrond's
long-fingered hands were already folding back the blankets from the small
face. Dark hair, curly as was all his
kind, closed eyes framed by thick dark lashes, an almost pointed chin with a
stubborn mouth. Skin so pale he could
see blue veins pulse weakly beneath the surface. Even as he watched, the small face scrunched up in agony and a
faint cry of pain issued from between the waxen lips.

"Give him to
me." Glorfindel gently placed the
bundle in Elrond's outstretched arms.
The Elf-lord took him carefully and cradled him against his chest. "He is as cold as one in death. Elladan," and he turned to find the
dark-haired Elves at his sides, "build up the fire in his room, and set bricks
to heat on the hearth." He turned to the
other Elf, a mirror-image of the other.
"Elrohir, take the supplies there. I do not fear now that he will die before we can treat him."

The Elves, the
lord's twin sons, nodded once and were gone up through the great carven doors
of the House. Elrond turned back to
Glorfindel and Asfaloth. The Elf
straightened in the saddle and stallion raised his head proudly. Quivers ran along both their frames but no
concessions would they give to weariness.
"My thanks," the Master of Rivendell said quietly. "To you and to your valiant Asfaloth, for
your bravery at the Ford and your bearing of this little one to the safety of
my House. Go now. Attend to Asfaloth, and rest. You have expended much of your strength against
our foes."

Glorfindel
nodded and swung off the stallion.
"Yes, my lord. Though I will
wait to see Estel, by your leave."

The Elf-lord
nodded his permission. Then shifting
the silent bundle slightly closer to him, he turned to ascend the steps. He was halted by a soft, "My lord?"

Elrond turned
his elegant head. Glorfindel mounted
the first stair and laid a gentle hand on the bundle. "Will he live?"

"I will do all
that I can," responded the Elf-lord slowly.
"But he has been fourteen days with this evil thing inside of him,
tearing at his body and his soul. It is
inconceivable that he has survived so long … he must have almost no strength
left in him." He looked into the
halfling's still, white face, then raised his gaze to his Elf.

"A
Morgul-blade is made for use on one person only, no other. Once spent, it dissolves into poison and
dust. But the … infection … the evil …
it introduces into the victim's body consumes him slowly, inch by agonizing
inch until he fades from natural sight and is lost to all that walks under the
Sun."

"Slavery,"
Glorfindel whispered. "Eternal slavery,
in torment, until the end of all things."

Elrond nodded
sorrowfully and folded the blankets back over the pale face to keep the small
form warm. He looked again to his Elf
and repeated, "I will do all that I can. Surviving such a wound is
unprecedented. And for one so small…
This is a wound out of all knowledge."

Glorfindel did
not see hope in the ageless eyes. He
watched as his lord turned carefully and ascended the stairs, the small, still
form held close to his chest. Tears suddenly
clouded his own eyes and he turned back to his big stallion. Asfaloth whinnied softly and pushed his
great head into the Elf's chest.
Glorfindel rubbed him between his huge dark eyes, comforting them both.

* * * * *

Asfaloth had
been cooled and brushed down before the second half of the escort brought in
Estel and the three other halflings.
Glorfindel hurried from the stables at the clatter of hooves in the
courtyard. The escort was missing one;
an Elf had stayed behind to lead in the pony at the little beast's own
pace. If he had not been so weary and
the circumstances so grim, Glorfindel would have smiled at the little ones'
expressions. They had each been mounted
before an Elf, and would no doubt add saddle-soreness to their sorrows and
hurts on the morrow.

He had not time
to know them well during their short journey together, other than that they
were brave of heart and unflinching in the face of terror and pursuit. But he had been quietly astonished at their
devotion to their hurt one, caring only for his safety and the easing of his
pain. He could, however, almost guess
their thoughts as they stared, eyes wide, at the immense House of Elrond
Half-Elven. Meriadoc gaped about him,
swift mind calculating and mapping, doubtless trying to ascertain where the
Elves had taken his cousin. Peregrin's
green-gold eyes were enormous as he stared in awe, open-mouthed, unconsciously
pressing back against the Elf that had brought him in. Samwise looked about him at the realization
of years of dreams of seeing Elven-kind and their abodes, this one most
especially. His grey eyes were
disbelieving, the joy he would otherwise have felt at his arrival here darkened
and marred by the reason they were come.

Aragorn, of
course, had no eyes for the graceful décor or delicate intricacies of elvish
architecture. Elrond's foster son had
been raised here, after all. He swung
down from behind Ralolith, thanking him with a squeeze of the Elf's arm and a
few words that Glorfindel could not catch over the dancing of hooves on the
flagstones and jingle of harnesses.
Seeing his friend's gaze sweep the courtyard, Glorfindel stepped quickly
into his sight then went to him.

"How is
he? Did he make it?" Aragorn gave him no gentle words of greeting
but Glorfindel did not take offense, knowing the fear that gnawed at the man's
heart. The Dúnadan was filthy, as were
the halflings, covered with smoke and scrapes and mud from the Ford when it had
risen against the evil that defiled the clean waters. Before he could answer, he found the little ones gathered about
him, their pointed ears straining to catch his answer as they hugged each other
in fatigue and fear.

"He is not
dead," the Elf assured them hurriedly.
"Lord Elrond has taken him and is caring for him now." The youngest one, Peregrin, put his hands
over his eyes and began to weep, overcome by exhaustion and terror. The other cousin, Meriadoc, drew him into an
embrace and began rubbing the young one's back soothingly, but his sharp blue
eyes never left the Elf's.

"Will you take
us to him?"

"It would be
better," said Glorfindel as gently as he could, "if you let my lord work
unhindered." Merry's gaze narrowed and
beside him, the little gardener called Sam stuck out his jaw. The Elf looked over their heads at Aragorn,
silently appealing for help.

The Ranger
moved around to the front of their little circle and knelt, placing a hand on
Merry's shoulder and one on Sam's.
"Glorfindel speaks truly," Aragorn told them, lifting his hand from
Merry to push the damp curls from Pippin's tear-streaked face. "There is no greater healer and lore-master
in all of Middle-earth than Elrond Half-elven.
If Frodo is to have any chance at all, we must allow Elrond to use his
gifts without so many anxious relatives and friends hanging over his shoulder."

Sam trembled at
that. "But surely you don't mean me, sir," the hobbit cried
desperately. "I won't get in the
way. And he'll need me, even if he's
not awake." Aragorn started to shake
his head, but Sam would not give up.
"Strider, Gandalf told me I wasn't 'ta leave him. Gandalf
said that. You can't mean to send me
away, sir, not when Gandalf said I
was 'ta be with him."

Aragorn straightened, having no reply to
that. He looked at Glorfindel
helplessly but the Elf just shook his head, not bothering to hide the slight
smile that framed his lips. His old
friend had been outmaneuvered by a hobbit.
Sensing victory, the two cousins moved closer to Sam. "All right," the Man said reluctantly, "but
Sam only, mind you." This was directed
at Merry and Pippin, who looked as though they might protest, then decided to
settle with what gain they could.

Merry drew Sam
off to the side while Aragorn and Glorfindel conversed softly. "It's not that I don't trust these people,"
Merry said with his mouth against Sam's ear, mindful of the stories he had
heard of elvish hearing, "but just you watch them, Sam. You're going to have to protect him for all
of us." Pippin crowded closer to them
both, shaking.

"I aim to,"
replied Sam grimly. "Don't you worry,
Mr. Merry, Master Pippin. I'll see they
do right by him." Then Strider was
calling for him, and Sam left the others to follow the Man up and into the
House, the memory of their strained faces following him as he and Strider raced
down the corridor.

"Come," said
Glorfindel gently to the two remaining halflings. "You will wish to bathe and refresh yourselves. I will then have trays sent to your rooms,
as you are no doubt hungry." The two
were clinging to each other so tightly that he had to pry them apart and give
them a gentle shove towards the steps.
One of Elrond's folk awaited them at the top of the stairs. The hobbits slowed to a halt, looking up the
stairs at the tall Elf, and Glorfindel's heart was wrung in pity for what they
must feel. So many Big People, in so
strange a place. "If you will arrange
for baths and for dinner-trays to be sent to their rooms, I will attend our
guests," he told the Elf, who nodded in understanding and gave him directions
to the quarters that had been hastily set aside for the little ones.

Glorfindel was
slightly disconcerted to find that the two halflings did not wish their own
quarters. Elves valued seclusion but Estel had told him that these were a
clannish people and he had seen that for himself. Rather than call a member of Elrond's housekeeping staff and
subject them to yet another intimidating stranger, he himself obligingly moved
one of the beds from the adjoining room into the other and waved aside their
grateful thanks. The younger one stayed
very close to his older cousin, and the Elf wished there was some way he could
reassure the frightened youngling.
Pippin had shown great valor at the Ford, as had his cousin and Samwise,
but Glorfindel sensed that this one was not much out of his childhood and
though brave, Peregrin was nearing his limits.
He needed rest and food and peace even more than did Meriadoc.

Looking about
the room that had been assigned them, the Elf regretted that he had not thought
to request that hobbit-sized furnishings be placed in the room while he awaited
their arrival. Other things had
occupied his mind, he thought with a sigh.
The two little ones would have trouble even sitting in the chairs. Perhaps the furnishings could be replaced
with another set more suitable to their size.
Arwen might arrange for some of the elfling sized furniture to be taken
from storage; her brothers' perhaps.
His ruminations were interrupted by a soft knock at the door, and silent
parade of Elves delivered two copper tubs and a great mound of towels, soap,
sweet-smelling oils and buckets and buckets of boiling water. Glorfindel frowned, then smiled as he realized
that by the time the little ones had eaten, the water would be perfect. The
last two who entered carried covered trays, and he was amused to see the
halflings lean forward and sniff appreciatively. Making a mental note to himself to speak to the Evenstar for
them, Glorfindel bowed to the small ones, instructed them on how to contact him
at need, and followed the last of the Elves out.

He was very
weary. The unveiling of his power at
the Ford had not been without cost.
Rarely did an Elf-lord of his stature, one who still embodied the light
of the Eldar, allow that light to shine forth in this lesser Age of the
world. Briefly Glorfindel wondered what
mortal eyes had seen in those few moments that he had revealed himself to drive
the maddened horses into the devouring waters.

Those
unspeakable Wraiths must be accounted for, the bodies of their mounts
counted. The Elf knew well that the
cleansing waters had not destroyed the Nazgûl – they could not be ended
so. But they could be unhorsed and
unformed, forced to return to their master empty and shapeless until new forms
could be made for them and new mounts found for them to ride. Not even one must be allowed to roam at
will, able to inflict its evil on the innocents that sheltered now here.

* * * * *

Sam refused
stubbornly to call out to the Ranger, to beg him to slow down to
hobbit-speed. Those long shanks moved
at a pace he could not hope to match.
Consumed by worry, Aragorn unthinkingly raced ahead and was soon out of
the hobbit's sight. Sam gritted his
teeth and leaned forward and churned after the man, his furry feet a blur on
the polished wooden floors. He skidded
around a corner and hopped on one foot to regain his balance, slipping on the
wax.

"Samwise!"

Sam spun at the
cry, his heart refusing to believe what his ears told him. It was impossible. Impossible. But he had
heard that dear voice from his babyhood; lifted in amusement, giving
encouragement in teaching, spinning wondrous tales in spare moments as he
followed his father in the gardens. His
first master.

Bilbo held out
his arms and Sam ran into them, the tears he had held back with such
determination undermined and undamed by this unlooked-for miracle. Dimly he registered the thinness of his old
master – Bilbo was one hundred, twenty-eight now, after all, bless him, and Sam
loosened his grip, careful of crushing the frail bones. Bilbo hugged him back, heedless, laughing as
tears of his own ran down his wrinkled face.

"Sir," gasped
Sam at last, "I don't understand. You
came here? And you never sent no
letters, nor came home to visit? The
Gaffer worried, he did. And Mr. Frodo,
he's never stopped hoping you would come back."

Bilbo hugged
him close again then released him. "I
know, Sam. But I had to, you see. It was time Frodo was his own hobbit, and I
did so want to travel again." The old
hobbit laughed, his deep brown eyes sparkling.
"And I did, too, for awhile.
Visited Dale and the Misty Mountains, and other places besides. I did just what I wanted to, until I came
here and imposed upon Elrond, and I've been here ever since."

"But no
letters," pursued Sam, unable to overcome the enormity of that. "Mr. Frodo fretted so, wondering if you were
all right. He kept up the Birthday
Party every year, even if it did get smaller.
Why, if'n he'd know you were so close, he'd have -"

"Exactly, Sam,"
Bilbo said with a nod. "He'd have come
here like lightening. Do what I didn't
want him to. It was time for Frodo to
come into his own … live his own life without the interference of crotchety old
Uncle Bilbo." Bilbo smiled wistfully,
brown eyes distant. "I always rather
hoped he'd come to visit me one day, though, when he was ready. No, Sam my lad, Frodo is Master of Bag End
now, and that's the way it should be."

Sam pulled back
and searched the dear, wrinkled face.
Did Bilbo not know? The old
hobbit's next words disabused him of that notion.

"Now," Bilbo
said softly. "Follow me. Elrond had me sent for when Glorfindel
brought him in, and said you'd all soon be following. It seems I shall see all of my favorite lads today." He gave a
tremulous smile. "I'll show you where
they've put Frodo. Elrond thought he
might feel better with me there, even if he's still unconscious. He'll need you too, Sam."

Sam's brief
joy was washed away in a tide of bitter fear.
Numbly he followed the old hobbit along a long corridor. Bilbo stopped before a great wooden door and
closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Sam did the same, feeling his insides quiver so that he felt
ill. He took one more deep breath and
opened the door to a scene of horror.

* TBC *

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